I laid the little bird inside a planting pot
with a leafless plant, a veil of snow on top—
and as the wind picked up I imagined
it coaxed the little bird’s soul along,
somewhere new—
and when I held it in my hand
and felt it stir, did it feel my thumb
stroke its side, a last comfort
for its life? And as I set it down
and stepped back,
I wondered
how we could think
we have souls
but theirs is less,
somehow?

Categories: Poetry

Tags: animal souls, mindfulness poetry, poem, Religion and Spirituality, spirituality, transmigration of the souls